A Strange Warm Grace
by yumi michiyo
Summary: The milestones in the story of two people who met, fell in love, and stayed in love. Modern college!AU. Kristoff/Elsa. Some Hans/Anna, unrequited Kristoff/Anna. Rated for implied sexual content and adult themes. Oneshot.


**Author's Notes:** This story grew out of my frustration at the lack of good Kristoff/Elsa fanfiction (or any fanfiction at all), and my petulant reaction: "Fine! I'll just _write_ some, then!"

Why Kristoff/Elsa? I won't waste time writing lengthy manifestos here. I just like justifying obscure ships, and giving them the love they always deserve.

* * *

_"I take much pleasure in being alone  
but there is also a strange warm grace in not being alone."_

_- _**Charles Bukowski**

* * *

_The first time she meets him._

It's after her structural engineering lecture, and he's just bumped into her. Her notes fly all over the place; red-faced, he scrambles to catch them, stammering apologies.

"Sorry," he says again, handing her the last of her notes on structural principles. He's somehow neglected the page under his left sneaker, and she can't help but laugh at his bemused expression.

She finally points at his shoe. He takes a while to comprehend, but when he does, she fights to compose herself, hiding her giggles behind her hand.

"I promise I'm not this awkward most of the time," he says shamefacedly, dusting off the page and tucking it into the stack in her arms.

"That's a pity. I think it's cute." The words slip from her mouth before she can stop them, and now both of them are a spectacular shade of magenta. "I-I'm sorry, I have to go," she stammers, just as he mutters, "Y-yeah, me too," and they walk off in separate directions.

It's not an excuse; she really does have a lunch appointment to keep, and it's important. Today her little sister, who isn't so little now, is bringing her best friend to meet her older sister. She's only a little nervous (because_ who wouldn't be, meeting this other important person in Anna's life?_) but she's heard nothing but good things about how sweet, how kind, and how adorable this boy is.

She rounds the corner to the cafeteria, and does a double-take; the tomato-faced boy who's just caught sight of her has Anna's arm slung around his beefy shoulders.

"Elsa, this is Kristoff!"

"Hi," she mumbles.

"Hi," he stammers.

* * *

_The first time they talk._

The next time they meet, it's at the beginning of their (shared, as it turns out) structural engineering lecture. She's already seated in the front row, and he can now put a name to that head of platinum blonde hair.

He decides to join her.

"Hi," she says, smiling faintly.

"Hi," he replies bashfully. He has this bad habit of slouching when he's nervous, as though he's trying to compress his bulky frame into something less obtrusive; he appears to be sinking in his seat, and she tries not to smile.

"About last week – "

He scrambles to reply. "– yeah, I, uhm, I'm sorry about that." A rueful chuckle. "Not the best first impression, I guess."

Her eyes widen, and her hands flail in her mortification. "N-no, that's not what I meant! Uhm, I wanted to say thank you. For picking up my notes."

"It wasn't a problem."

By unspoken agreement, they don't bring up what Elsa said after; partly because if they were any more embarrassed they'd spontaneously combust, and mostly because the professor's started talking and they have to return to their notes.

* * *

_The first time they _really_ talk._

"So you're an engineering major?" asks Elsa during the mid-lecture break. She's tired of pretending to concentrate on her equations just so she won't accidentally meet his eye and be forced to make small talk. Might as well give in to the inevitable pressures of social interaction.

He looks equally relieved and nervous. "Yeah. Third-year civil engineering. You're in architecture, right?"

"That's right. Third-year as well." She nodded at her notes. "This course is one of my electives."

"Y-yeah, mine too."

His hands are huge, matching the rest of his physique. She can't help but to notice. "Do you play sports?"

"Yep. I'm on the ice hockey team." From the way Kristoff straightens up, she gathers this is a passion for him. "Actually, that's how I met Anna."

"Really?"

"Really. I was warming up on the ice, and she was skating with her friends."

Elsa raises an eyebrow. "Anna can't skate to save her life."

"And that's precisely why she collided into me – but she bought me hot chocolate afterwards as an apology." Kristoff's hands move animatedly as he talks. "She gave me the money and made me buy it myself though; something about not tempting fate."

She giggles. "That _does_ sound like Anna."

* * *

_The first time she embarrasses herself in front of him._

They're out for dinner, the three of them; Anna's wailing with laughter at a story he's telling about the disaster that was his material analysis lab. She sits between them, her upper body draped over Kristoff's shoulder, one arm linked with Elsa's.

Elsa's been dying to ask for days now, and it looks like the perfect moment when Anna's laughter dies away. "So how long have you two been dating?"

The result is spectacular; Kristoff chokes on his soda, and Anna shoots bolt upright. Both their faces are identical shades of tomato, and Elsa would have found it amusing if she hadn't been so embarrassed herself.

"I – we're not – "

"Anna isn't – "

"I – I see," squeaks Elsa. "I'm sorry, I just thought – "

She isn't sure if it's her imagination or not, but they seem to spring apart. "We're friends," says Anna, beaming up at him, reaching up to tousle his mop of golden hair.

"Yeah, friends," echoes Kristoff in a distinctly lacklustre tone.

* * *

_The first time they can call each other friends._

He's early for structural engineering next week, and he's so busy doodling on his notepad he doesn't notice her peering over his shoulder.

"That's pretty good," she says, slipping into the seat to his left. He jumps; the reindeer he's adding fur to grows a fabulously long hair.

"Er – thanks."

To draw attention from his reindeer, he glances at the cover of her notebook. Snowflakes in white and pale blue ink drift over the plain black page. "Did you draw those yourself?"

"Yes," she says shyly.

"They're really good."

"Thank you."

"Do you like to draw?"

She contemplates the question. "I suppose. I draw a lot for my work, but I do like sketching." A small smile. "When I was a kid, my father gave me a geometry set. I drew heptagons and octagons and all sorts of other polygons with it. Does that count?"

"Sure. At least you didn't get in trouble for that. When I was a kid, during winter I'd go outside and cut holes in the frozen lake."

"Whatever for?"

"My family came from Norway ages ago. I'd heard stories of my ice harvesting ancestors, and I'd pretend I was harvesting ice too. I'd tie my dog to my sled and cut out chunks with my dad's saw." He grins. "The local ice skaters used to _hate_ me."

She laughs.

* * *

_The first time they dance (together)._

The dress she's wearing is a little too short for her liking (even if it ends a little below her knees) and her shoes are pinching her feet, but those are the least of her worries; she doesn't like large social gatherings and this one is no exception. Elsa hovers on the fringe of people, clutching a glass in her hand that hasn't been touched for the past hour.

"Elsa?"

He's standing there, his bulk squeezed into a suit-and-tie job. His normally-unruly blonde mop has been slicked back. More importantly, he's staring at her, and she's starting to find it uncomfortable (but in a good way). He looks different. Good, different.

Then he laughs awkwardly and she realises she's been staring. "Hi, Kristoff," she says, suddenly self-conscious, a veritable fish out of water. She's so used to her jeans and sweater and blonde braid, she's forgotten that she's dressed like a lady in royal blue, and her hair's done in an upsweep with the aid of a thousand bobby pins prickling at her scalp.

He doesn't seem to think the same. "You look nice," he tells her with a lop-sided grin. Her first reaction is to blush, and her second to smile. "Thanks."

He looks at the glass she's holding. "What's that?"

"Champagne. I think." He raises an eyebrow. "Haven't had a sip yet," she confides. "I'm only holding it so people won't force more drinks on me."

"Ah. Smart."

She finally understands the shuffling body language, the hands clasped nervously in front of him. "If you're looking for Anna, she's on the dance floor."

He groans, and then laughs. "Figures. I can't dance for nuts, though."

"Neither can I. That's why I'm way over here."

But just then, they're interrupted by Anna, auburn hair spilling out of her bun, and a flush in her cheeks to match. "So _that's_ where you two have been!" She catches their hands, one in each hand. "Let's dance, c'mon!"

"Anna, I don't – "

But it's too late. Elsa is on the dance floor, and Anna introduces her to a friend she's _only_ _just met_, and while she's off dancing awkwardly with Kristoff, her new partner sweeps her into a surprisingly graceful waltz.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Elsa. I'm Hans Sorenson," he says, leading the way across the floor. "Anna's been talking about you all night."

"She has?"

"Certainly. But it's far better to meet the real thing, I must say. You're more lovely than she says."

Elsa gives him a tight little smile. He's too glib and charming, and if she isn't careful, she might even end up falling for him. She briefly wonders why that would be a problem.

Hans takes her for a tour of the dancefloor until the music ends, engaging in small talk the whole time, and then Anna steals him away. That leaves Elsa and Kristoff together; they're about to make for the safety of the side, but something compels him to take her hand.

"May I have this dance?" he asks, and there's a shy smile on his face.

"You may," she replies, and they set off. He's not as skilled as Hans – Elsa's feet are trod on more than once – but she only laughs when he winces and apologises.

She finds this dance more enjoyable than the first.

* * *

_The first time she calls him._

Even though they can afford separate places, Elsa's thrilled when Anna asks her to share her new apartment with her. She's been in boarding school for most of her life, and has only just begun to know the young woman her baby sister's grown into.

Elsa doesn't have many things, but it's still too much for one petite woman to handle (she's taller than Anna, but the women of their family have never been _large_).

She eyes the boxes and suitcases and assorted bundles of her life, and picks up her phone. Her thumb hovers over the touchscreen; before she can let herself worry about imposing on him, disturbing him even, she taps the dial button decisively.

He picks up after a few rings. "Hello?"

"Kristoff, it's Elsa. Are you free now?"

* * *

They peer at the modest heap of suitcases and boxes; she shrugs under his quizzical gaze. "I don't like to hold on to stuff."

"I know. But it's hard to believe you're Anna's sister." He traces sweeping arcs in the air. "The amount of stuff she's packed into her room..."

She laughs. "So I've heard. She's a bag lady, not a business undergrad."

* * *

"I knew you didn't have much stuff, and that's fine, because that means more room for me." Anna reaches into a box, pulls out a pair of teal gloves. "But the stuff you hang on to..."

Elsa snatches it away, blushing hotly. "That has sentimental value, okay. But you're not here to judge my things."

"I am," says Kristoff good-naturedly, and laughs when Elsa vents her mock anger on his shoulder, pounding with her small fists. Anna's laughing as she tries to save him from her sister's wrath.

"If looks could freeze, you'd be an ice sculpture by now," says Elsa severely, trying and failing to look enraged.

His eyes twinkle. "Ice is my life."

* * *

_The first time they date (as friends)._

She's settled in for a cosy night in when the doorbell sounds. Elsa leaves her warm nest on the sofa with great reluctance, and opens the door.

"Hi," he says shyly.

"Kristoff?"

"Is Anna in?"

"No," she says finally, and notices the creeping redness emerge from under the collar of his shirt. "She's out with some friends – Hans and some others, I think."

"Oh. Am I... I should leave."

"N-no!"

They both start, surprising themselves, and Elsa flushes. "You can come in if you want," she tells him, stepping back. "I'm not doing anything."

"I don't want to intrude – "

" – you're not."

Before she can embarrass herself further, he nods; not meeting her eyes, Kristoff shuffles in and seats himself awkwardly on the couch. Elsa brings out a tray of drinks and snacks (two months of acquaintance and she's still not sure what he likes) and sets them on the table.

"So," she begins.

"So," he says, reaching for a can of soda hesitantly, like a little boy sneaking sugar under his mother's nose.

"I was going to watch a movie, but you can pick another if you like."

"What are you watching?"

She pauses. "_March of the Penguins_," she says, determinedly not meeting his eyes.

He grins. "That sounds fine to me."

* * *

_The first time they go out together._

_It's only awkward if you think it is_, said Elsa to herself firmly. Hans gently touches her arm, and she blinks, startled. "Would you like more popcorn, Elsa?" he asks very politely. She smiles and shakes her head.

"No thanks."

Anna leans over. "Oooh, are you going for popcorn, Hans? I want – "

"– a mix of sweet and salty, with extra butter. I know."

"You're the best."

He shoots her a look that's part fondness and part exasperation. "Kristoff?"

"I'm good, thanks," he grunts. She noticed he's been surly all evening, but she doesn't say anything.

"He's dreamy," sighs Anna once he's gone.

"He's known you for two weeks," grumbles Kristoff.

"That doesn't matter."

"It does. You're acting like some Disney princess. Sing a duet with him already."

"Hey, it's not like I'm getting engaged to him like right now, because of True Love or something clichéd like that."

Kristoff mutters something that sounds like, _it's something you _would_ do_.

Elsa touches his shoulder, and he gives her his lop-sided smile – albeit a little faded at the edges.

She smiles back.

* * *

_The first time she notices._

She's just a little surprised when he shows up in half her classes next year, but mostly she's happy to have the excuse to see him more often.

Most of the time she's busy with her work and so is he; they spend long hours immobile, surrounded by books and papers and cups of coffee, in a variety of locations. They're in their final year of school, and Anna is just a happy second-year student, her weekends filled with parties and friends and drinks.

And Hans.

* * *

They're at another of Anna's friends' parties (having been coerced to attend at least one social event this semester), trying and failing not to get drunk.

Kristoff comes over, a drink in his hand, and flops heavily on the couch beside her. "It's noisy." He reeks of cheap alcohol, and she knows he's drunk.

"Parties usually are," she replies. Her own drink is actually water, but she's gotten away with it so far. But before she had the presence of mind to fill her cup from the tap, she couldn't resist trying some of the Swedish exchange student's homemade punch, and there's a pleasant warmth in her stomach.

He grins and holds out his can; they tap their drinks together.

From the assorted partygoers, she can see the distinctive auburn plaits belonging to her sister, and Elsa knows her companion's red-eyed gaze is following Anna as well. "She's dating Hans," he informs her with a slight hiccough, raising his drink in a toast.

Elsa's eyes widen. "She didn't tell me."

"She told me first." He crumples the empty can and lets it fall to the carpet. "As her best friend."

Elsa's at a loss for words. She's sorry for him, but there's precious little she can say to him, and it would ring hollow anyway. She likes to think she knows him better than that.

He makes the decision for her. "It was kinda stupid, really," he says, running a hand through his hair. She reads him like a book.

"No, it wasn't."

The silence stretches out and settles between them oppressively; she worries she hasn't read him correctly, and maybe he's talking about something else, but he shakes his head like an old lion trying to shake the fleas from his mane.

"Stupid," he repeats, and she isn't sure what he's referring to now.

* * *

It takes herself, Hans, and Anna to lug him back to his dorm room, and even then they're sweaty and panting. They collapse in different corners of the cramped single room, and the sight makes Anna giggle breathlessly. Hans, his legs propped against the desk at funny angles, closes his eyes and lolls his tongue, making her laugh so hard she falls over.

"I should send you back," he says when they've both gotten tired of making dead faces at each other, "it's really late." Anna pouts.

"What about Elsa?"

"Elsa is fine," Elsa says dryly, standing up and hauling Anna to her feet.

Anna blinks blearily. "You can stand," she says in an awed voice.

"It's a basic requirement for humanity. It separates us from the amoebas."

"Ooops." Her sister's feet flail helplessly. "Send me back to the petri dish."

Rolling her eyes, Elsa props her up against Hans; together, they manage to stay upright. She wrinkles her nose as they cling to each other and dissolve into helpless laughter again.

"Both of you are in no condition to be sending each other anywhere," rules Elsa. "You'll stay here."

They celebrate the prospect of a night spent together with a sloppy kiss, and Elsa averts her eyes before she can destroy her last shred of innocence regarding her baby sister. She decides to check on Kristoff.

He looks like a little boy asleep. She brushes his fringe from his face, he furrows his brow and mutters Anna's name, and her heart aches; not for him, but for _her_.

She knows she's in trouble then.

* * *

_The first time he notices._

She's been a little edgy recently, but he blames the coursework.

She doesn't seem to have as much time as before to spend with him, but he thinks it's because she's cooped up in the studio, finishing up her final project.

She seems to be avoiding him, but he supposes it's because he embarrassed himself by getting drunk in front of her.

She acts like she doesn't want to be around him any more, and it hurts him more than he thought it would.

* * *

_The first time they kiss._

He's at her door again, and she fights the urge not to answer his insistent knocking. It's not impossible; she's done it every day for the past week. She's even ignored his phone calls, his texts, his shouting of her name.

Of course, she couldn't simply be _out_. She has to torture herself this way, sitting and watching the door, denying herself like a damned nun.

She still isn't sure whether it's happiness she's denying herself or not.

"Elsa! I know you're in there!"

She waits.

"Open this door!"

She bites on her knuckle so she won't make a sound.

"Elsa, _please_..."

His voice has that precise note of despair that shatters her like a wineglass. She lets him in.

"Kristoff?"

His eyes are dark with meaning. Just as she opens her mouth to say the words that won't come, he catches her face in his hands and kisses her.

She isn't quite sure what happens next, but she's kissing him back just as fervently, and her fingers are hopelessly entangled in his hair. His tongue traces the softness of her lips, and she gasps...

Her hands work under his shirt, and feel the muscles play beneath his skin as he lifts her into his arms. They don't break the kiss; she cradles his jaw and holds him to her desperately, even as he's moving, stumbling, still kissing her back. They tumble to her bed, and they still have yet to let go of each other.

"Kristoff..." she starts.

"_Elsa_," he breathes, and then catches himself. Horror dawns in his eyes; he pulls away –

She draws him down again.

* * *

"You're in love with Anna," she says flatly, ensconced in his arms. He sighs; his breath ruffles her hair.

"Yes."

"Then this..."

"It doesn't make _this_ any less real," he whispers, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I still have feelings for Anna, but I love you, Elsa."

She pushes his hand away. He sighs again. "I'm sorry."

"– Don't apologise."

He bites his lip; it's one of Anna's habits. Her stomach clenches.

"I don't care," she whispers.

* * *

_The first time he leaves._

The semester is drawing to a close, and he's packing up to go home for the winter break. "I have a huge family out in the country," he says, tossing luggage into the back of his beaten-up pickup, "and they'll be needing a helping hand on the farm around now."

"You live on a farm?" asks Anna excitedly.

Hans slips an arm around her waist. "That sounds really incredible." Kristoff looks at him slowly, appraisingly; from the slim lines of his frame, the soft hands of a man who's never needed to toil for his bread, and finally the earnest expression. Just as Hans' smile is beginning to falter, he nods his agreement.

It's a little ironic that he's leaving just when he's gotten used to _them_.

Anna beams at them both, and turns to Elsa. "Maybe we'll come down for a visit. What do you think, Elsa?"

Elsa's head jerks up at this suggestion and she tries not to meet Kristoff's eye. "Maybe. We'll be visiting Mama and Papa, won't we?"

Anna looks askance at her friend and sister, and shrugs. "We don't need to stay with them for the _whole_ of the holidays," she says offhandedly, and Hans grins.

"Are you insinuating something, dearest?"

"Nothing at all, what are you trying to say?"

Elsa's eyes don't waver from Kristoff. He smiles at her, accompanied by a cheekily meaningful glance that causes colour to rise to her cheeks.

* * *

That night, she shows up at his almost-empty dorm room instead of the other way round; from the way she kisses him and the urgency with which her legs wrap around his waist, he knows she's going to miss him.

"Maybe you'll come down for a visit?" He traces patterns over the skin where her neck meets her shoulder, and she shivers.

"Maybe," she says.

* * *

_The first time they reach an understanding._

Neither one remembers which happens first; either he cuts his visit home short, or she comes back to campus early. By the time she's able to think coherently, they're tangled up in bedsheets and each other, and he's kissing her forehead. "I expected to see you when Anna and Hans came down," he says.

She stills him with a finger to his lips. "Have you told Anna?"

"No."

"Does she know anything at all?"

"Not a clue."

She studies him for a long moment. "We should tell her soon."

"I know."

"But what are we going to tell her? We're... sleeping together?" he says, and then frantically backpedals, "I, um, that came out wrong; I mean, you aren't that sort of girl – "

"It's fine," she says with a barely-suppressed giggle. It takes her some time to consider his words seriously, but then she tilts her head up to place a kiss on the stubble of his chin. "We can tell her that we're together," she smiles.

His answering smile lights up the room.

* * *

_The first time they _are_._

"I already knew," says Anna smugly, relishing their twin expressions of shock and confusion. "You two are _so_ obvious."

They flush scarlet and move apart, not meeting Anna's eyes or even each other's.

She takes one of their hands each in hers. "I'm really happy for you both," she offers with a gentle smile as she brings their hands together.

* * *

_The first time she leaves._

As soon as they graduate, she's gone. She's been offered an internship at a firm in the big city, and he's thrilled for her. He misses her, to be sure, but her eyes light up when she speaks of the future, and who is he to stand in her way?

He sits at the kitchen table at the farm, poring over the letters she's sent him (she likes the old-school feel of pen on paper). Her latest letter tells him she's enthused about starting at her new firm, about the tiny little nook of an apartment she now calls home, and that there's room for him if he wants to join her.

She writes about _their future_.

He puts the letter down, next to his phone; there's a text from Anna excitedly announcing her engagement still on the screen.

He goes to pack his things.

* * *

_The first time they fight._

It's not too long after he's moved to the big city, and he's spending most of his time at home. He doesn't take to city life like she has; he misses the open fields and the simple life.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" She's tried being patient and understanding, but he's been sitting on her couch for three months already.

"I don't know." The slightly scared look he turns on her would have melted her heart not long ago, but she has deadlines and a performance review tomorrow morning. Her heart freezes a bit more.

She walks away.

* * *

_The first time he's_ gone.

When she comes home after an exhausting day, he's gone and he's left her a letter. It's parked on her kitchen table, her name written on the front in his solid print.

She makes it as far as picking up the letter before her nerve fails her, and she drops it into the trash bin without opening it.

* * *

_The last time she leaves._

It's about two years to the day he bumped into her outside their lecture when she takes all the leave she's accumulated, tosses her suitcases into the taxi, and flies out. She's on the road for the whole day, her modes of transportation gradually getting smaller and rougher until she's dragging her bags up an old dirt road to the farmhouse.

He's outside, wearing overalls and a flannel shirt, pitching hay into a stack; the sight is so charmingly clichéd she pauses to watch.

When he finally notices her, he nearly drops the pitchfork.

"Elsa?"

She's in his arms. He smells of hay and summer and sweat, and she's missed all of it, all of him.

When they've both calmed down somewhat, and she's nestled in his arms (he has yet to let go), he breathes, "You came back." _To stay_.

The smile slips from her face.

* * *

_The first time they know what to say._

She knows she'll be seeing him sooner or later; there's no way on earth he would miss Anna's wedding. As the maid of honour, she gets gentle teasing from their mutual friends about her baby sister getting married before her.

Hans has never stopped being charming. "You look beautiful," he tells her as she darts in and out of the room, attending to errands for Anna.

"Thank you." He's going to be her new brother-in-law, and she finds she doesn't mind the idea as much as she used to. It's hard to, seeing the way Anna's face lights up when she's with him.

When the ceremony begins, she sees a bulky man slip into the back of the hall, and she smiles.

* * *

"You made it!" squeals Anna, flinging her arms around Kristoff's neck. He returns her hug with his usual awkward embrace, swinging her around a little; Elsa smiles.

"Yeah." He sets her down, and moves to shake Hans' hand firmly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

And then there is Elsa.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He doesn't quite meet her eyes, and she won't search for his gaze.

Anna squints at them both, but she doesn't say anything.

* * *

The party's in full swing, and she's out on the balcony searching for the courage to go back in.

He comes out, and from his expression, she guesses he was doing the same.

"You look beautiful," he says awkwardly, fingers twisting together before him; she has to smile because she recognizes the habit as one of hers. "I mean – you're always beautiful, not that you aren't never – "

"– Thank you," she interjects, and he looks relieved because she always knows what to say. "You look well."

He really does. The farmwork suits him; he seems to have gotten more massive in the time they've been apart, and his tan suits his golden hair. She knows she's paler thanks to the long hours at her desk indoors. Probably thinner as well, judging from how her clothes now hang on her.

"So do you."

Silence. It's surprisingly comfortable for a pair of lovers-that-were-but-now-not-so-much, but she's always felt comfortable with him, and she knows he feels the same way about her.

"Elsa... I'm sorry for leaving." He meets her gaze. "I still love you."

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning," she tells him as though he hasn't said anything, taking his hand and pressing an airplane ticket into it, "and I'm not coming back."

When she walks away, she doesn't look back.

* * *

_The first time they leave._

She's already dressed for work, in a neat blue suit and her white-blonde hair in a severe bun, typing on her laptop; she would look professional and focused if not for the way her eyes dart around every few seconds over the top of her spectacles.

The intercom announces the last call for her gate. She clicks the computer shut and stands, pulling her wheeled suitcase behind her.

He bumps her shoulder gently. "Sorry," he says with his lop-sided smile, "I promise I'm not this awkward most of the time."

Her own smile is radiant. "That's a pity. I think it's cute."

She intertwines her fingers with his.


End file.
